


can't decide whether to punch or kiss you

by Keira_63



Series: Harry Potter One-Shot Collection [26]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, F/M, Hermione has a thing for fire, Hermione punches people, Hogwarts University, Mentions of character injuries, Tom has a thing for violent retribution, and sometimes just violence for fun, but no major characters, no magic, not to be taken entirely seriously, questionable morality, they probably deserve it, tomione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:06:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26283124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keira_63/pseuds/Keira_63
Summary: “So you’re the one who set Draco Malfoy’s hair on fire? How violent.”University AU.  No Magic.
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Harry Potter, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger & Tom Riddle, Hermione Granger & Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle, Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Series: Harry Potter One-Shot Collection [26]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/252727
Comments: 34
Kudos: 254





	can't decide whether to punch or kiss you

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter, it is the property of the brilliant J.K Rowling. This story is the product of her marvellous characters and world and my imagination.
> 
> Important Information: Hermione and anyone from her year in the books are in their second year of university, while Tom is a graduate student having finished his Masters and working on his PHD and his minions are in a number of different years. Hermione and Tom’s degrees are both related to Chemistry but I’m not any more specific than that, and they both also take extra modules / are parts of clubs unrelated to their degree subject because they are genius overachievers.
> 
> Hogwarts is a university that caters largely to aristocratic families (aristocratic blood is sort of equal to pureblood in this but I don’t really expand too much on it). Hermione, Harry and Ron attended the same secondary school and have been friends since they were eleven.
> 
> This is not to be taken entirely seriously. I sort of struggled with how crazy to make Tom. He can definitely be physically violent against those he dislikes, insulting and more than willing to arrange little ‘accidents’ but there is no actual proof of murder (despite what Harry, Ron etc. might believe). If you want to think he killed his birth father and grandparents at some point, then go ahead, but it isn’t explicitly stated. Also, you kind of have to suspend disbelief, because some of the things that happen would (or should) lead to possibly criminal investigations but are sort of glossed over here.

Hermione is standing in line at the library when Tom Riddle comes up to her.

She’s never spoken to him before, but _everyone_ knows who he is.

Star student. Genius. Popular. Handsome. Voted ‘most likely to succeed’ in all those stupid polls Hogwarts students seem so fond of.

Voted ‘most likely to kill a man and get away with it’ by Hermione and her friends that one night Fred and George brought the really good firewhisky for Harry’s birthday and they all got so incoherently drunk that they swore they’d never touch alcohol again (although inevitably that promise didn’t last).

“So, you’re the one who set Draco Malfoy’s hair on fire?” Tom’s assessing eyes look her up and down in an interested manner, “how violent.”

Hermione raises an eyebrow and glares at him, “you’re one to talk Riddle. What is it some people call you these days – psychopath, sociopath, maniac?”

“Nothing has ever been proven,” he replies smoothly, “and no one likes a hypocrite, Granger.”

She scowls but he doesn’t seem to care.

“Marietta Edgecombe has still got a scar, I’ve heard. Doctors say it’ll never fully heal. Poor girl, to have somehow fallen onto that Bunsen Burner flame.”

“She tried to ruin Harry’s life,” Hermione counters, a little red-faced “she betrayed our trust and pandered to that horrendous Umbridge woman. If it hadn’t been for Dumbledore then Harry would probably be locked up in a mental health ward with no valid cause.”

“I’m not judging, Granger,” Tom cuts in, “but speaking of Umbridge – has she regained consciousness yet?”

“That was a freak lab accident. It’s her own fault for snooping around volatile experiments and not following proper safety protocols.”

“Of course,” Tom smirks, “but as far as I’m aware Malfoy’s stayed away from you and those morons you call friends ever since you gave him that delightful black eye last year.”

Hermione shrugs, “Draco’s a prat. Him not calling me a low-class peasant and other such delightful epithets every single day does not mean he’s suddenly a nice guy. He’s so obsessed with his hair, I just thought that it would be a good lesson for him … give him time to consider that perhaps it’s best not to torment and taunt other people about hair that they can’t help because _they_ got stuck with the bushy hair gene. Besides, his hair was only singed really, and any official reports will tell you it was an accident – if you mess around in a classroom full of chemicals and fires like Malfoy did then you get what you deserve, really.”

“You are something else, Granger, you know that.”

He winks at her and then, before she can say anything back, he vanishes into the crowd.

And, somehow, she knows that things are going to be different now.

* * *

Things _are_ different now.

Bloody Tom Riddle is _everywhere_.

Suddenly he seems to always be helping out Professor Slughorn, whose lectures and seminars Hermione attends for a few hours each week.

He is coincidentally in the labs at the same time she is and though he makes a show of what a ‘surprise’ it is to see her, she has a sneaking suspicion that he’s charming Slughorn into letting him see the lab schedule.

He also has the annoying habit of always managing to pop up in the library or on campus or even in the café she regularly visits (because the habits of her dentist parents have rubbed off on her and this place does some amazing, low-sugar snacks).

Hermione refuses to let him see that his presence throws her a little off balance.

She also refuses to talk to him if she can help it.

Tom Riddle is charismatic and clever but she also thinks he’s dangerous, and she’s got no intention of getting mixed up with him.

He never seems bothered by her lack of response to his questions and comments, just a little amused and expectant, as if he thinks that eventually she’ll give in and talk to him.

(she doesn’t like to think that he might be right).

* * *

“I don’t know why Dippet had to retire,” Tom complains.

Hermione contemplates ignoring him. They are the only ones in the lab and so there’s no one to looked confused at her snubbing _the_ Tom Riddle, but she’s also learnt in the last few weeks that while Tom can be charming, he can also be very, _very_ annoying when he wants to be and will inevitably keep pestering her until she either answers him or tosses a vial of acid at his face (the second is certainly a tempting idea but it isn’t worth the expulsion and arrest that would inevitably follow).

“He was ninety-three,” Hermione reminds him, “deaf in one ear and pretty much blind.”

“Exactly,” Tom sighs, “he was perfect. Always signed off on every request I made, no questions asked. Dumbledore won’t let me have half the things I need for my research.”

“I saw your requisition form when I was in the Chancellor’s office last week. You wanted 8ml of Basilisk Serum.”

Tom just stares at her, apparently confused as to why that is a problem.

“Honestly, Riddle. Basilisk Serum is five times more potent than the venom of the inland taipan snake and 8ml is twice the amount most places are allowed to keep of it in any single lab.”

“But I need it for my work,” Tom says – he isn’t exactly whining, but it’s a close thing.

Hermione just shakes her head. Tom, she is learning, has zero respect for safety procedures that get in his way – as long as _he_ stays safe then she’s fairly sure he wouldn’t care if his experiments blew up an entire lab of innocent people.

“What are you doing that could possibly require 8ml of Basilisk Serum?” Hermione asks, “the most I’ve heard of a formula needing is just over 3ml and that was for something that requires six different permits to work on.”

“I’m not going to spill all my secrets, Granger,” he says, “and besides, it’s for something new.”

Hermione shudders at the kind of ideas Tom could come up with that used so much Basilisk Serum – to be honest it wouldn’t surprise her if he just wanted it for some nefarious purpose rather than for any project.

“Well I guess you’re just going to have to remain disappointed, Riddle,” she tells him, “there’s no way Professor Dumbledore will ever let you have that much Basilisk Serum.”

The frustration on Tom’s face tells her that he knows she’s right. The anger makes her a little concerned – Professor Dumbledore is spry for his age and very sharp, but Tom honestly looks like he wants to run the man through with a sword.

* * *

She doesn’t mean to let Tom see the ideas she is jotting down for her new project. He just gets irritated enough with her ignoring him that he snatches it out of her hand and starts to read it.

“Society for the Promotion of Earth’s Welfare,” Tom reads out sceptically, before laughing in a surprisingly genuine way, “your little organisation is called _spew_ , Granger.”

“It’s actually S.P.E.W,” she scowls, annoyed that he’s making the same juvenile joke both Harry and Ron did.

“No need to be tetchy, Granger, surely you can see how ridiculous it sounds?”

“All my other name ideas were too long,” she says, wondering why she’s bothering to explain herself to Tom of all people.

“I knew you were a bleeding heart, Granger, but I never thought you’d actually make a club, although considering it’s _you_ I really shouldn’t have been so surprised.”

She resists the urge to shove him, because Tom is absolutely the type who would just push back.

In the end he does pay a fiver and sign his name in her membership book (current members being only herself, Harry and Ron, though she has hopes for Neville, Luna and Ginny, and she can probably blackmail Fred and George into joining, considering all the stories she could tell their mother, if she was so inclined) because, in his words, “you’re never going to get any sort of clout when your only members are Potter and Weasley and, really, I just feel bad for you, Granger.”

He also forces his numerous minions to pay up and sign their names too. She would feel bad that they were clearly acting on a strongly-worded ‘suggestion’ from Tom if they weren’t almost all nasty pieces of work whose money she is happy to take to support her cause even if having their names on the membership list makes her feel a bit sick.

She is practical enough to know that over £100 will do far more good than the £10 she’d had before Tom got involved (her own money and Harry’s – Ron has given her an IOU and she’s not expecting much from _that_ any time soon).

* * *

Tom Riddle is exceptionally frustrating.

They have civil, interesting and intellectual conversations sometimes, when they are both in the labs.

Unfortunately, Tom also spends an incredible amount of time telling her how awful her friends are (as if he’s got room to talk, considering some of the absolute thugs he likes to hang out with) and that she’s wasting her time with S.P.E.W. He bemoans that so many of the Hogwarts students don’t appreciate the resources of the university, and especially likes to insult Gryffindor for their propensity towards partying over studying (he’s not exactly wrong about that, in general terms, but she isn’t about to admit it to him).

He also seems to spend a creepily high proportion of his time daydreaming about getting Professor Dumbledore fired (or worse).

Basically, she’s fairly sure he might be a psychopath, even if he is handsome, scarily smart and very compelling.

It’s a moot point, anyway. She’s fairly sure he only talks with her because he likes to debate with somebody that has half a brain.

* * *

Hermione gapes at Tom.

“You’re asking me to the Winter Ball?”

“Yes,” Tom replies, rolling his eyes, “you’re not slow, Granger, kindly don’t act like it.”

“But you don’t like me,” she reminds him.

“Whatever gave you that idea?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

“We argue all the time. You’re constantly insulting my morals and my friends. You think everyone who goes here should have aristocratic blood, and you’ve circulated about a hundred petitions about it. You look down on anyone who doesn’t agree with you, and I’ve been called mudblood and other names too many times to count by _your_ little minions just because my parents don’t have a title or a mansion or the blood of royalty in their veins.”

She’s angry now, flushed pink as she rants about the unfair prejudice that is unfortunately quite widespread at Hogwarts University, despite the new Chancellor Albus Dumbledore’s attempts to combat it.

  
“You aren’t anything like the others who come here from nothing,” Tom tells her, voice quiet but fierce, “ _they_ don’t take advantage of what they have been gifted with but _you_ do. You’re special, Granger.”

“Oh, so because I’m a clever peasant I’m worthy?”

“Intelligence and drive and power are everything, Granger.”

He looks more excited now than she’s ever seen him, almost fanatic and yet strangely magnetic.

Dangerously charismatic.

Dangerous full stop.

“What about kindness and friendship and morals and even the vaguest sign of a conscience?” she asks him.

Tom laughs, the sound high and cold, “no one gets to rule the world by being _nice_ ,” he spits the word out like it disgusts him.

“Well, I don’t want to rule the world, Riddle.”

“What _do_ you want then, Granger?” he asks, calm again but still cool and calculating, “a boring husband, two point five children and a middle-level management job that slowly rots that brilliant mind of yours?”

“I want to change the world, not rule it,” she insists, “make it better and fairer and –”

“Life isn’t a fairy-tale, Granger,” he cuts in, rolling his eyes, “if you want to change the world as radically as I suspect you plan to then you need power first.”

“I’d rather not if I have to sell my soul to get it,” she retorts primly, “I won’t be that sort of person.”

Tom smiles at her. It’s not a pleasant smile, “you’ll see the truth of it one day, and then you’ll know I’m right.”

He grins, showing gleaming white teeth, “I’ll see you at the Ball, Hermione.”

It’s the first time he’s ever called her by her first name and it sends shivers down her spine.

The worrying thing is that the sensation is not all bad.

\-----

“I’ll kill him,” Ron mutters under his breath.

Hermione sighs. She hadn’t planned to tell any of her friends about Tom Riddle’s invitation to the Winter Ball, especially since she has absolutely no intention of accepting it. Unfortunately, Walden Macnair, almost certainly in some attempt to cause trouble, had mentioned it to Ron, who is currently ranting and trying to persuade Harry that they need to have a ‘talk’ with Tom.

Hermione has no doubts that such a talk would be an unmitigated disaster, at least for Harry and Ron.

“I didn’t agree,” she reminds Ron, “and I have no plans to go to the Ball with Riddle.”

“Can’t believe he’d ask,” Harry says, “he’s destined to be one of those ruthless corporate types, nothing like your plans to save the world.”

Hermione just nods, though she is uncomfortably aware that Harry’s words are not entirely accurate. She and Tom Riddle have opposing views on a lot of things, but they both have a never-ending hunger for learning, and they both (in their own, different ways) want to change the world.

“It’s ok,” she tells them, “we’re all just going together anyway.”

The two of them give her identical guilty looks and she sighs.

“Ginny?” she asks Harry, who nods.

When she looks at Ron, he shrugs, “Lavender.”

She sighs. Neville with inevitably pair off with Luna and, although they’ll all spend time together, it won’t be quite the same as going as one big group.

She’ll just come late, when her friends are already there, and avoid getting caught in a conversation with Tom.

It’ll be fine.

Probably.

\-----

It isn’t really fine.

To be fair, it starts out well.

Her dress (picked up on a shopping trip with Ginny) isn’t half-bad, though she’s more comfortable in jeans and a jumper. Her hair actually behaves for once. Ron and Lavender’s PDA is more toned down than usual. Everything promises a pretty enjoyable evening.

Then Cormac McLaggen shows up, with his complete lack of respect for personal space, his wandering hands and his lewd comments. He’s exactly the sort of person she’d love to punch in the face, but she has restraint (usually, at least, Malfoy is an exception).

When she finally manages to escape McLaggen, cursing the fact that all of her friends have disappeared, she runs straight into Tom.

“Let’s dance,” he tells her.

He doesn’t phrase it as a question, either because he doesn’t understand why anyone would ever say no to him or he doesn’t want to give her the chance to refuse. Instead, he grasps one of her hands in his, places the other firmly on her waist and pulls her onto the dancefloor.

In the background she spots Nott, Malfoy and Macnair whispering together and glancing over at McLaggen, but she doesn’t have time to think on it since Tom is now talking at top speed about the latest results he’s had on his experiments and his topic really is quite interesting.

For about ten minute she thinks that, despite the interlude with McLaggen, the evening might not turn out terribly. True, she is dancing with Tom Riddle in full view of everyone, which means Harry and Ron are bound to find out, but he seems to be behaving, now talking about research studies they both have an interest in.

When the current song finishes, Tom, putting on a gallant show, offers to get them drinks.

“Just lemonade,” she tells him, because she wants full control of her faculties while she’s dealing with him.

He smirks like he knows exactly what she’s thinking, but manages to keep his mouth shut, which she appreciates.

Unfortunately, her relatively good mood is ruined when, a couple of minutes later, she feels someone grope her, and a hand attempt to slip underneath her dress.

She whirls around with a thunderous expression. She doesn’t care what some people say about it only being a bit of fun, or ‘part of the uni experience’, she is absolutely not having it.

McLaggen is the culprit, which doesn’t surprise her at all. He leers at her, holding out a drink for her that she wouldn’t take if he paid her.

“Hey, Granger, fancy wandering over to a dark corner.”

She considers just walking away, she really does, but McLaggen isn’t the sort to back off unless a clear message is given (and even then, there’s only about a 50% chance he’ll get lost).

And so, in the middle of the dancefloor, Hermione slaps Cormac McLaggen in the face and stalks off.

She can’t see Tom anywhere and she’s kind of glad, because she is absolutely _not_ in the mood to deal with the inevitable argument they will get into about lab safety protocols (Tom likes to pretend they don’t exist) or one of the myriad other topics about which they regularly debate.

McLaggen has vanished, probably to lick his wounds and find another girl to try and charm, so she grabs her bag and spends a few minutes looking around for any of her friends. When she doesn’t find them, she simply puts a message on their WhatsApp group saying she’s heading back to the dorms and moves towards the door.

McLaggen is definitely the sort to complain about getting hit, even though he absolutely deserved it.

Hermione sighs. She’s bound to get another lecture from Professor McGonagall about using words, not fists.

She knows very well how to use her words. Many might in fact say that she uses them too much. Sometimes, though certain people need a more physical reminder – it had worked wonders, after all, with Draco Malfoy.

Naturally, it is at the moment she is almost out of the door that a high, shrill scream rings out, silencing the room.

“Oh my god, he’s dead!”

Worst. Night. Ever.

\-----

Contrary to the rumours, no one is actually dead.

Cormac McLaggen is, however, severely injured.

Hermione, her face like thunder, finds Tom, bent over a delicate experiment, in the labs the next morning.

She has the good sense to let him finish what he’s doing before she starts to question him. She has no desire to get blown up and she, at least, pays attention to the safety rules detailed on huge posters on the walls.

“Why is Cormac McLaggen in hospital with bruises, a broken leg, a sprained wrist and a concussion?”

“Hello to you too, Hermione,” says Tom almost cheerfully as she drops down onto a chair next to him.

“Well?” she asks expectantly.

“Why do you even care?” asks Tom, “half the people at the Ball witnessed you slap him – whatever did he do?”

Hermione fumes. She’s fairly sure Tom knows exactly what McLaggen tried, because he always seems to know _everything_.

“Playing dumb doesn’t suit you, Riddle. And I know you were involved in this.”

“As far as I’m aware,” Tom says lazily, “McLaggen was attacked from behind and has no idea who so brutally assaulted him.”

Hermione’s eyes narrow, “I remember seeing some of your merry pack of miscreants nearby.”

“Coincidence,” says Tom airily, “and besides, haven’t you considered that McLaggen may have deserved what he got? A little bird told me that he had a stash of Amortentia in his suit – it’s lucky he didn’t get the opportunity to use it on anyone that night, isn’t it?”

Hermione pales. She has always known that McLaggen is a letch, but she never expected him to stoop as low as to use Amortentia, the newest and most potent date rape drug currently on the black market. Now she can’t help but wish that he was out of the hospital so she could break both his legs herself.

Tom gives her a self-satisfied smile, clearly understanding the train of her thoughts.

“Don’t give me that look,” she hisses, “he deserves to be suspended, or expelled, or even arrested – not to get pushed from behind down the stairs.”

“We both know you don’t believe that,” Tom smirks, “in fact, I’m almost positive you wish you’d got the chance to do more than slap him.”

_He’s not a mind reader_ , she reminds herself, just stupidly good at reading people.

His smile widens even further as he watches her, and she’s pretty sure she’s going to have nightmares now of the Cheshire Cat wearing Tom’s face.

“You’re impossible,” she says, resisting the urge to stomp her foot because she is twenty years old, not five.

“See you soon, Hermione,” he calls out as she walks away from him.

She wishes she could say _not bloody likely_ , but he’ll inevitably pop up soon.

She’ll just ignore him, though, like she should have done right from the beginning, regardless of how absolutely brilliant it is to talk about her studies with someone who actually understands.

* * *

Hermione means to stay resolved, she really does.

She visits the labs completely randomly, changing her slots at the very last minute to try and avoid Tom. She darts in and out of the library, all the while looking around to ensure he’s not there.

She succeeds in staying away from him for three weeks, two days and seven hours.

Then, his patience (she still can’t believe he has any) clearly worn out, he finds her in a café on campus and badgers her until she can’t ignore him any longer.

“I don’t know why you’re here,” she sniffs, “I don’t even like you.”

Tom says nothing in response, but the look he gives her says he doesn’t believe her in the least.

“Come on,” he coaxes, “don’t you want to talk about Henry Schaefer’s latest paper?”

She very much does want to. She’d gotten so desperate yesterday that she’d attempted to explain the basics of Computational Chemistry to Harry, which hadn’t gone at all well.

“You are a terrible person,” she says it out loud, partly for him to hear and partly as a reminder to herself.

“I rather think that’s a matter of perspective,” he responds.

“I’m fairly sure pushing someone down the stairs is generally considered to be wrong.”

“ _I_ rather think he deserved it,” Tom counters, “and considering what he could have done to some unsuspecting girl, I imagine you feel the same way.”

“Violence doesn’t solve everything,” she tells him tartly.

It may be a bit hypocritical of her, considering she has used violence to solve a fair few things in the past few years (mostly issues with Malfoy), but it’s still technically true.

He only shrugs, “not _everything_ , no, but there’s certainly something to be said for its use in the climb for power. A good balance of fear and adoration is required, I believe.”

She almost says he’d make a terrifyingly efficient dictator, but she knows he’ll just take it as a compliment and she really doesn’t want to encourage him.

She huffs at him instead, but he pulls out a copy of the article in question and they both end up with heads bent over the table as they talk through every paragraph.

It’s sort of sad that she’s finally found someone who loves to learn just as much as she does, who drinks in knowledge like someone dying of thirst, but he’s also seems to lack any kind of morals and have a disturbing penchant for violence.

That, however, is now a problem to consider in an hour or two.

Just as soon as they’ve finished dissecting this article.

* * *

Three weeks later and Hermione still hasn’t solved her dilemma – she can’t seem to stop spending time with Tom, even though he’s kind of a terrible person.

It feels like she’s compromising her morals horribly … but somehow it also feels like it’s worth it.

She’s starting to think she’s not nearly as good a person as she’d like to believe.

She and Tom are debating the merits of Shakespeare (their opinions differ in almost every way, although they both agree that Romeo and Juliet could have avoided their tragic fate if they’d just been a little more sensible) when she hears Harry calling her name.

She panics slightly, because so far she’s managed to avoid Harry noticing all the conversations she and Tom have been having recently. She knows his reaction will be absolutely overly-dramatic and she wants to avoid that for as long as possible

Tom Riddle is almost certainly a sociopath even if she can’t be sure he’s a psychopath. He has what could turn out to be very dangerous opinions and he is often infuriating beyond belief.

But Harry is … well he’s a bit obsessed with Tom and his supposed crimes. Harry is fully convinced that Tom is a murderer and future crime lord. With the way he lost his parents in a horrific robbery gone wrong, Hermione can’t blame her best friend for his black and white view of good and evil – she was the same way for so long, but she has to admit that Tom (and his probing, Russian Roulette style questions) has changed her view a little, made her see the world in shades of grey.

“Hermione,” Harry’s voice is closer now, “what are you …”

His voice trails off as he catches sight of Tom sitting next to her.

“Riddle,” Harry sounds hard and angry, not at all like the Harry she’s used to (occasional outbursts of temper aside).

“Potter,” Tom’s voice almost sounds friendly, but Hermione knows better. This is not going to end well.

The older boy makes no move to depart, clearly deciding he’s not going to let Harry think he can drive him off.

Hermione rolls her eyes. _Boys_.

“He’s not bothering you, is he, Hermione?”

Tom doesn’t bother to look offended, only bored by Harry’s tense posturing.

She’s about to say that she’s fine, and perfectly capable of taking care of herself thank you very much, but unfortunately Tom manages to answer before she does.

“Hermione and I,” he says, emphasising his use of her first name in a way that is definitely calculated to irk Harry even further, “were just having a fascinating conversation about Shakespeare’s works – I don’t suppose _you_ have read any of them, have you Potter?”

Harry flushes red. He doesn’t like to be reminded that the death of his parents when he was only a toddler had led to thirteen years of being ignored and shouted at in alternate turns at his aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon’s house, wearing hand-me-downs from his horrid cousin and being bulled terribly. This had not been an environment terribly conducive to studying (especially as his getting better marks than Dudley was more trouble than it was worth) and so Harry, while bright and a talented athlete (and much happier now he is living with his godfather Sirius), has certainly not ever gotten round to reading any Shakespeare apart from excerpts at school.

Tom, of course, knows exactly how to hurt someone. The absolute tosser.

She can see Harry’s fists clenching and she puts her hand on his arm to try and calm him down. All the sport he’s done these last few years has ensured he has muscles enough to do a fair bit of damage if he wants, but Tom … he’s taller than Harry, and very tricky when he wants to be. And maybe he’s not as broad, yet she knowns he’s got more strength in his wiry arms than it might first seem and an aura of deadly power surrounds him (not to mention the three or four minions he always seems to have close at hand for any such occasion as this).

“Don’t, Harry,” she whispers fiercely, “don’t rise to his bait.”

“Run along Potter,” Tom’s tone is mocking, though she notes that he eyes her hand on Harry’s arm with a narrowed gaze and what almost seems like … jealousy.

And _that_ opens up a whole new can of worms she really doesn’t want to explore right now. Tom asked her to the Winter Ball, and he flirts with her fairly often, but she’s never really thought he was serious about it.

“I’m fine,” Hermione insists to Harry, “we’re just talking.”

Harry doesn’t move. She’s fairly sure he’s not going anywhere until he’s sure she’s far away from Tom.

She sighs and stands, “I’ve got to go to a class.”

“You’re coming to the pub with us tonight, right?” Harry asks.

“Sure,” she nods, “I haven’t seen Luna in a few weeks.”

“I’ll see you in the labs tomorrow, Hermione,” Tom adds, still eying Harry with distaste, “Slughorn’s got us on the same schedule all this week, and next week too I think.”

Hermione glares at him, knowing he’s saved _that_ piece of information for the perfect moment to infuriate Harry.

She sighs and ignores them both to walk away towards her next lecture. Harry follows her quickly, falling into step beside her.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Hermione?” he asks her seriously.

“It’s only a conversation, Harry,” she tells him, “we just talk about academics.”

“I don’t like the way he looks at you.”

“You don’t like anything about him, Harry – it makes you a bit biased. I’m not denying that he can be an arse, but he’s not a serial killer or anything like that.”

She doesn’t mention what his gang did to Cormac McLaggen. Harry won’t take that at all well, won’t even try to understand that Tom, in his own twisted way, may have been trying to protect her.

Harry shakes his head, “there’s something _wrong_ about Riddle. Be careful.”

“Always,” she says, as they reach a fork in the path and split up, her to a lecture and he to football practice.

She knows, she really does, that Tom Riddle has all the hallmarks of someone who can be extremely successful or extremely dangerous (or, even worse, both). She thinks, though, that while she can’t exactly change him (he’ll never allow that), she might be able to influence him.

Perhaps it is a futile belief, but Hermione’s always had a soft spot for hopeless causes.

* * *

Hermione is sitting outside the Chancellor’s office, waiting for Harry to finish talking to Professor Dumbledore, when Tom drops down onto the seat next to her.

He watches Dumbledore with narrowed eyes, "he's so old, it'd be a mercy, really. I could make it painless too, if I really wanted to. Then we could have someone decent in charge, like Slughorn."

Hermione snorts. She ignores his daydreams of murdering the Hogwarts Chancellor, which he shares so often they're almost the norm now, and thinks instead on the idea of Slughorn (with his immense susceptibility to bribes) being in charge.

“You just want another Dippet, someone who is charmed enough by you to allow you all the access you desire to restricted substances.”

“Are you calling me charming, Hermione?”

She rolls her eyes, “you wish.”

“Oh, I really do,” he says, his gaze so intent on her face that it makes her feel warm.

“Go away, Tom,” she tells him, trying to cover for how flustered he’s made her, “I’m fairly sure you’re not interested in talking to the Chancellor today, or Harry.”

For once he actually listens to her but, before he goes, he leans forward and briefly brushes his lips across her cheek.

Hermione flushes red and he winks at her, strolling off and actually whistling.

It’s fine. She can handle this. She absolutely will not spend all day thinking about what just happened.

She lifts her hand to touch her cheek and feels the blush rising again even though Tom is out of sight.

She’s doomed.

* * *

It’s been a week and a half since she’s seen Tom. She has a horrible feeling he’s avoiding her deliberately to make her want to see him … and it’s working.

He turns up in the lab, though, unexpectedly.

“What are you working on?” he asks from behind her.

Hermione scowls as she jumps slightly at the sound of his voice (she hadn’t heard him enter the room and she curses his quiet footsteps), “Molotov cocktail to toss through Malfoy’s window,” she tells him with what she considers to be an impressively straight face.

“Really,” his eyes light up with glee.

“Oh my god, no, you lunatic!” she cries out, “I am not making a bloody Molotov cocktail in a university lab.”

Tom shrugs, “why not? The lab’s got everything you need stored in one place.”

“I’m fairly sure you can be expelled for using the labs that way.”

“You say that as if Professor Slughorn doesn’t hoard all the best chemicals we’re supposed to have for his own side projects.”

Hermione wants to disagree, but she knows Slughorn too well to do so.

Damn. She does so hate it when he’s right.

Tom smirks at her, “come on Hermione, you’re better than this simple stuff. Why don’t we try something really challenging … like Felix Felicis?”

Hermione’s eyes widen. Somehow, she had expected him to suggest something more sinister, like Amortentia. Still, while Felix Felicis is not quite as illegal as Amortentia it’s definitely regulated – the affect it has on the body makes it a godsend for professional athletes or nervous performers, leading to its official name as well as the simple nickname of ‘Lucky’ it is better known by.

Felix Felicis is notoriously difficult to make and she remembers hearing a story about a group of grad students who tried a few years ago and ended up causing an explosion that left all of them permanently disfigured.

The challenge it could provide tempts her, though. She does like to push herself academically. And Tom, whatever his faults, is obnoxiously clever and probably the best partner she could find to try out such a fiendishly complicated formula with.

“If you can persuade Professor Slughorn to let us have what we need,” she agrees.

“Done,” he says immediately.

It doesn’t surprise her. Slughorn adores Tom and is almost as fond of Hermione, and she knows he’ll love the idea of them working together, probably so he can crow about it to all his colleagues (and inevitably ask for a little sampler of the finished product, on the side).

Tom smiles at her, wide and genuine and full of academic fervour.

She thinks he looks beautiful.

She’s starting to think Tom is something she won’t be able to easily shake.

* * *

Three weeks later, once everything has been sorted with Professor Slughorn (who, as predicted, is absolutely delighted to assist) Hermione and Tom begin their work on Felix Felicis with a six-hour stint in the lab one Saturday morning.

They work in synch, almost without speaking. There’s a sort of rhythm between them that she’s never felt with anyone else before.

It both excites and scares her.

It all goes well. Zero explosions, and everything looking like it should. Hermione has high hopes that they’ll be successful in their endeavour, and she’s pretty excited about being able to say she’s actually managed to make Felix Felicis (not that most of her friends will really understand the significance, but she’ll still feel accomplished all the same).

When they leave the lab, Hermione expects Tom to go in the opposite direction, towards the Slytherin dorms. Instead, he walks next to her.

She doesn’t _let_ him walk her home.

She just argues with him about philosophy and morality (and his disturbing lack of care and compassion for others) as they both walk back from the lab, until they reach her accommodation block and she realises that he’s gone about half an hour in the wrong direction.

Hermione wants to believe it’s just because he hates to lose an argument, but somehow she thinks that isn’t the whole reason (though she’s sure it’s definitely a part – like her, Tom can be an extremely sore loser).

Tom frowns up at the building complex, “I still can’t believe you’re a Gryffindor.”

Hermione shakes her head in exasperation at his disgust. But, truthfully, the odd Hogwarts system of assigning university accommodation frustrates her. Instead of the college system some of the universities use, or the assignation of accommodation based on choices and demand, Hogwarts picks where the students live.

There are four sections of accommodation on the campus and students are assigned to one based on a mix of grades, their personal statement, a (frankly bizarre) personality test and a short interview.

Hermione doesn’t personally think putting, for example, a large group of rowdy, daredevil students (Gryffindor) together is the most sensible idea, but Hogwarts is widely regarded as the best university in the UK and so she’ll accept a few quirks as the price of her education.

Tom, naturally, is in Slytherin, which produces a high number of politicians and business executives with ruthless ambition and the tendency to be scrupulously polite while deciding how best to destroy or use you for their own benefit.

Tom has been confused ever since he discovered she is in Gryffindor – most people seem to think she should be a Ravenclaw (Tom agrees, but he also makes a terrifyingly convincing argument for Slytherin).

Hermione shrugs at him, “I’d wonder if it was maybe because of the time I set my Chemistry teacher’s coat on fire because I thought he was trying to poison Harry with toxic fumes … but I’m fairly sure no one apart from Harry and Ron knows that was me.”

It’s a bit of a joke reference and slips out almost accidentally. To be honest it was a very small fire and Professor Snape wasn’t burnt at all – she feels bad now knowing she was mistaken, but at the time she had truly believed there was an immediate danger to Harry and had acted accordingly.

Tom’s eyes glitter with interest and excitement, though, and she curses herself for forgetting that the fire incident is probably the sort of thing he did when he was a child (though with more dangerous intent, she’s sure) and she should definitely not be encouraging him to think of any similarities like that between them.

“You are a delightful contradiction, Hermione Granger,” he says with genuine glee, “such a bleeding heart, always going on about the rainforest, human trafficking, endangered animals and such … yet absolutely vicious when it comes to protecting your friends or doing what _you_ think is right. How old were you when you set that teacher on fire?”

“It was only his coat,” she reminds him sullenly, and then, in a quieter voice, “I was twelve.”

She doesn’t want to tell him the truth, but Tom has a talent for catching lies – sometimes she could swear he reads minds – and she knows he’ll wheedle the answer out of her eventually.

“Delightful,” he repeats, looking even happier than he does when he shows her the comments he receives on his essays (from professors raving about his genius) or tells her about his successful experiments.

“I better go in,” she says, “I’ve got to finish an essay for Professor Flitwick.”

He nods, “I’ll see you on Monday evening to check on the Felix Felicis.”

He steps forward then, and she’s reminded of just how tall he is. He bends down and, just as he did before, brushes her cheek with a quick kiss, “goodbye, Hermione.”

“Bye,” she mutters, a little dazed.

He looks pleased with himself, the smug tosser, but she can’t find it in herself to care right now.

She heads to her dorm without walking into any walls, but it takes a good hour before she can focus enough to finish her essay.

One day (though not today) she’s really going to have to think carefully about what she feels about Tom Riddle.

* * *

They finish the Felix Felicis and, even with their exacting standards, they’re very happy about it.

Professor Slughorn raves about it to everyone and anyone who will listen. Part of Hermione hates the fawning, but she also knows that Slughorn’s connections will be key to helping her get a good job after she graduates, so she puts up with it. Besides, she does enjoy the praise – she’s always liked having her work appreciated.

Tom takes all the compliments as if they are his due, as if he expects nothing less. She supposes in this case he deserves it – they really did do an excellent job.

Still, Hermione feels a little … bereft, once it’s all over.

They’ve been spending so much time together in the lab and she’s really rather enjoyed it.

As if he’s read her mind, though he thankfully isn’t too obnoxious about it, Tom suggests they try another project, since their first partnership worked out so well.

She says yes a little too eagerly, judging from the smirk on his face, but she finds she doesn’t particularly mind.

* * *

When Hermione enters the lab late one afternoon, she finds Tom pacing in front of one of his experiments in a foul mood.

He clearly hears her footsteps and whirls round with a furious look on his face, “where have you been?” he asks angrily, “every day you spend hours here, or in the library … but today, the day where I actually needed someone competent, you’re nowhere to be found.”

Hermione rolls her eyes, “I’ve been at the climate change protest, the one that’s been marching loudly around campus for hours. You’d know all about this if you ever actually looked at the S.P.E.W Facebook page I set up.”

Tom just gave her a look, “why on earth would I bother with that? Facebook is full of irritating, boring people pretending their petty lives and mediocre achievements have actual meaning. And if I ever want to know about climate change or endangered species or any of your other many and varied causes, I’m sure you’ll oblige me with an excessively sentimental but still properly factual explanation.”

“You joined S.P.E.W, Tom,” she reminds him with a sigh, “you’re supposed to at least pretend that you care.”

“Don’t act like you’re stupid,” he tells her, “it doesn’t suit you.”

There’s a compliment in there, she thinks, despite the rudeness.

“What do you want, Tom?” she asks.

He tugs her over to the table and passes over his notebooks before launching into a detailed explanation of how he thinks he thinks he’s managed to create a synthetic version of Basilisk venom, something no other lab has yet managed.

“It’s even a little more potent than the real thing,” he tells her with a delighted but rather vicious smile on his face, “some of the components are tricky to get hold of, but nowhere near as difficult as actual Basilisk venom.”

Hermione’s eyes widen in shock, “are you serious?” she hisses, “Basilisk venom, real or synthetic, is _not_ something to be messing around with in normal student labs. There should be supervision and stringent safety protocols and oversight and documentation.”

“I have documentation,” Tom protests, pointing to the notebooks filled with his meticulous handwriting.

“Documentation lodged with the proper authorities,” she tells him, “a discovery like this could be incredibly dangerous.”

Which, she imagines, is exactly what he wants.

She can see how it is.

Professor Dumbledore is about as likely to give Tom access to Basilisk venom as Hermione is to join the England women’s football team and score a hat-trick in the World Cup final.

It’s not going to happen.

And so Tom has applied all of his considerable brainpower to come up with an alternative, something he can create with a list of ingredients that won’t cause Professor Dumbledore to become suspicious when he looks at the requisition forms.

It’s brilliant, even if it is also totally immoral.

And there isn’t really anything Hermione can do about it.

There’s no point trying to burn his notes. He’s inevitably got copies, and his memory is good enough that she imagines it would take a severe blow to his head (a tempting option sometimes, to be sure) to get him to forget the formula. She could go to Professor Dumbledore, but though the university requisitions route is undoubtedly the easiest one for Tom, she knows he has other avenues to get all the chemicals, equipment and other materials he might require – Draco Malfoy’s cousin Abraxas is one of Tom’s sycophantic followers and, as the heir to Malfoy Pharmaceuticals, can easily divert some of the company’s stockpile to Tom.

No, the only effective option she can think of is to try and create an anti-venom.

One exists already for the real Basilisk venom, though considering how fast the venom kills a person there isn’t much of a window to successfully administer it, but that anti-venom won’t work for Tom’s improved, synthetic Basilisk venom.

It’s a daunting project, to be sure. She won’t even be able to have Tom’s input on it, since he’ll inevitably frown on what she wants to attempt.

She can do it, though. Harry and Ron have always told her she’s stubbornly determined. That, in these circumstances, is a good thing – she has a feeling she’s going to need it.

* * *

He understands the topic.

His essays always get fantastic marks.

He won’t be afraid to give her honest feedback (Harry hasn’t said anything bad about her essays since that time during their GCSEs when she hit him over the head with a book for interrupting her revision schedule, and Ron … well his strengths lie outside the realm of academia).

Hermione has a number of perfectly good reasons to offer any curious (horrified) friends who might want to know why she is deliberately seeking out Tom Riddle to ask him to proofread a particularly tricky essay she’s working on.

But the simple truth is that she wants to see him and the proofreading is an excuse.

He knows it. She knows it.

They’ll spend an hour going over her essay (with the backhanded compliments and genuine praise hidden under the cutting criticism that she’s becoming used to from him – it does help her get better, even if his people skills leave a lot to be desired) and then five hours talking about countless other topics. They’ll debate and argue and probably shout and she thinks she’ll love every minute of it.

Tom isn’t funny in the same way that the Weasley twins or Harry’s godfather Sirius are. But he’s got a sly wit she likes.

She likes a lot of things about him, no matter how awful she knows he can be sometimes.

* * *

“Hermione, why do Mulciber and Avery have third degree burns all over their arms?”

Hermione shrugs. “no idea. Perhaps they were poking into things that didn’t concern them. You know what they say – play with fire and you’re going to get burned.”

“You booby-trapped your experiment,” Tom says flatly.

She raises an eyebrow, “I did warn you not to let your minions near my work. It’s at a very delicate stage after all.”

“You mess around with _my_ experiments all the time,” Tom says with an accusing frown.

“ _I_ know what I’m doing,” she tells him tartly, “Mulciber and Avery barely have a dozen brain cells between them.”

He can’t argue with that. His association with those two is due to their influential families and the fact that, tall, muscled and rugby playing as they both are, they make intimidating figures whenever Tom is trying to make an impression on whoever has been unlucky enough to earn his ire.

She keeps her face studiously blank. She isn’t actually in the habit of booby-trapping her work, but she knows Tom has no problems rifling through whatever she’s currently got set up in the lab, and she doesn’t particularly want him to find out how close she is to making a variation on the antidote to Basilisk venom that will work to counter the synthetic venom he’s managed to create.

Still, he looks at her with suspicion, probably because he has a naturally paranoid personality and she doesn’t have a particularly good poker face.

“Aren’t you going to tell me what you’re working on?” he asks.

“Nope,” she tells him flippantly, as if it doesn’t really matter much.

She expects him to protest, or demand an explanation. Shockingly, he actually backs down, shrugging as if he doesn’t care.

He definitely does care. Hermione is fairly sure he’ll sneak back later and try to figure out what she’s doing.

She can work with that, though. She’ll just keep moving it around from lab to lab. If things get really dicey, she’ll hide it in the toilets on the third floor, the ones that have apparently been out of order for about fifty years and are rumoured to be haunted by a Ravenclaw student who died decades previously.

“Why don’t we do some more prep on the Draught of Living Death?” she asks, attempting to distract him with the project they’ve chosen following their successful attempt at Felix Felicis.

“Only if you stop calling it by that ridiculous name,” Tom says, “it’s simply a very powerful sedative.”

“It can put people into comas if incorrectly used,” she points out.

Tom rolls his eyes, “only idiots who can’t read dosages correctly. Clearly, they deserve what they get.”

“Full of compassion, aren’t you?” she sighs.

Her plan works, though. Tom doesn’t ask her about her work for the rest of the day, buying her some time to ensure it is secure and safe from his meddling.

* * *

When Hermione gets her formula sorted for an amended anti-venom, Professor Dumbledore is delighted to hear it.

It isn’t really anything too impressive, just a couple of tweaks to the anti-venom for real Basilisk venom to make an anti-venom that will work against a synthetic Basilisk venom.

No market for it at the moment, of course, since a synthetic venom doesn’t yet exist. Hermione hasn’t shared Tom’s discovery with anybody, since: one: she can’t actually prove he’s created such a thing; and two: he hasn’t, as far as she’s aware, actually started to produce it, and until he does she’s going to give him the benefit of the doubt (however much a fool that might make her).

Still, Hermione’s discovery is a good example of tweaking current formulas, so it gets a two-page article in the Hogwarts newspaper, and a spot on the Hogwarts Department of Chemistry website.

She takes a bit of vindictive pleasure in sending an anonymous copy to her old teacher Professor Snape (now working in a private lab just outside London) because he’d once told her she lacked creativity in her scientific work (it had taken her a little while to get out of her rigid thinking and she hadn’t really managed it until she started university) and she’s feeling a bit petty.

Tom pouts like a child, irked both by what she has accomplished and also by the fact that she’s managed to hide it from him up until this point.

He’s highly irritated when Professor Dumbledore stops by the lab to personally congratulate her, especially because the Hogwarts Chancellor watches him with distrust.

“I told him nothing,” she pre-empts Tom’s question as soon as Professor Dumbledore is out of earshot, “what he might have guessed on his own is not my problem – he’s a certified genius, remember.”

“He knows,” Tom mutters mutinously, “it’s going to be years before he’s forgotten enough that I can start producing the synthetic venom now.”

_Do not smile. Do not smile. Do not smile._

The thought loops through her head as she tries to look blank-faced.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he hisses, reminding her disturbingly of an angry cat.

“I told you, I didn’t say anything to Professor Dumbledore.”

“You’re still happy about him ruining my plans.”

“Oh yes,” she says sarcastically, “how dare I be happy about making sure a more potent, synthetic form of Basilisk venom doesn’t get out into the general public anytime soon.”

He stomps out of the lab in a huff, because behind all his scary genius and normally collected demeanour he is sometimes just like a five-year-old denied the chance to have dessert.

She doesn’t worry much. They’ve had worse arguments.

* * *

“I think we should consider a project to improve on Fiendfyre.”

“What the hell, Tom! It’s already the worst accelerant known to mankind.”

“Yes, and I really do feel that with the two of us working together, we could make it so much more efficient.”

“You’re a psycho sometimes, you know that?”

“You’ve informed me a number of times. I really don’t see it myself – there’s nothing wrong with a little ruthlessness.”

“Just no. No to Fiendfyre. And, before you ask, no to improving on any dangerous formulas, poisons or venoms.”

“You are absolutely no fun, Hermione.”

* * *

“I can’t believe it!”

“I can.”

“I refuse to concede that I have been beaten at chess by that moron Ronald Weasley.”

“Hey, Ron’s my friend. And he might not have an IQ like yours but he’s got his strengths, and chess is one of them. I did warn you when you decided to challenge him online. It’s probably a good thing you all use screen names or he’d be gloating for months about this.”

Hermione glances down at the laptop in front of them and rolls her eyes when she sees what Tom’s screen name actually is.

“Voldemort? Your screen name means “flight of death” – how over the top are you trying to be?”

“Immortality is an ever-growing area of science, Hermione. I, for one, plan on having more than a meagre eighty or ninety years on this planet – the average life span at the moment isn’t nearly enough time to accomplish everything I want to do.”

“There are a lot of books to read,” Hermione agrees.

“Books to read, people to control, political systems to remake,” Tom responds.

“Can you let your megalomaniac dreams go, just for today.”

“It’s an inevitability, not a dream.”

Knowing Tom, knowing his brains and drive and charisma … she thinks he’s probably not wrong.

“Well that’s a conversation for another day. For now, can we please talk about something that isn’t chess.”

“Just one more game,” Tom murmurs, “I’ve got a feel for his strategy now – I can definitely beat him.”

“That’s what you said last time,” Hermione points out, “and the time before that, _and_ the time before –”

He gives her a dark look, looking like a vengeful sprit ready to murder her.

“I’ll just go, shall I,” she says, trying not to laugh, “come and find me at the library later if you get bored of this.”

\-----

He doesn’t find her until three days later, looking more unkempt than she’s ever seen him, drinking black coffee and with a slightly wild look in his eyes.

“Finally beat him,” is all he says.

“Err … congratulations,” she offers tentatively, because while she’s pleased for him, he also looks kind of like an actual mad man right now.

“I’m going back to my dorm to sleep,” he says, “will you check on my projects for me.”

“Sure,” she says.

He vanishes almost immediately and she shakes her head before going back to her book.

When she sees Ron a few hours later, he’s as keyed up as Tom was dishevelled.

“Played some amazing chess games online the last few days. My opponent was an absolute monster – it was such an awesome challenge. He finally beat me this morning, but, man, he deserved it. I wonder if he lives anywhere nearby – I’d love to meet and play in person.”

Hermione goes into hysterics and refuses to explain why.

Ron wanders off, muttering about barmy best friends, but she keeps giggling to herself at the thought of what his face would look like if he realised exactly who his opponent had been.

She laughs about it the whole way back to her dorm.

* * *

One day she kisses Tom.

They aren’t doing anything special, just sitting in his room talking about one of his projects.

And she realises she likes him … really likes him.

She isn’t exactly sure what to do with these feelings that she’s had for ages but only just properly figured out.

Tom isn’t like Ron or Viktor or any other boy she’s fancied before.

Tom is … more.

Cleverer and handsomer and more dangerous than any of them.

Tom flirts with her all the time, making some sort of suggestive remark almost every time they see each other.

He’s never kissed her, though, apart from those two brief times on her cheek. She thinks maybe he’s waiting for her to make the decision. Or, more likely, he wants to drive her crazy enough that she can’t help but kiss him.

Either way, she kisses him. Almost as an experiment, to see if it will be as good as she thinks.

Hermione has imagined kissing Tom once or twice (or rather more than that, really, but she’s not about to admit it to anyone).

Somehow it is both exactly what she expects and completely different to her imaginings.

It is all consuming and forceful, just like Tom – a powerful kiss from someone who craves and wields power. The intensity of it might have scared her, if she wasn’t an equally intense person herself (and, of course, she doesn’t want him to think he has the upper hand).

But the kiss is warm too, which surprises her. Tom is cold and calculating, even in most of his unguarded moments. She expects a sense of ice and instead finds fire.

She is not fool enough to believe this shows some great untapped emotion – Tom, she thinks, will always be aloof from his feelings – but it is _something_ … it is more than she has expected.

When they break apart, Tom is smirking smugly, like he’s been expecting this for ages and loves being proved right.

“This _does not_ mean we’re dating now,” Hermione blurts out once her brain has started working again.

Tom laughs, “Hermione, we’ve practically been dating for months now and everyone at Hogwarts knows it.”

“They do not,” she shouts indignantly.

“Your friend Potter gave me a distinctly underwhelming shovel talk last week. That Weasley boy glares whenever he sees me. Professor Slughorn is always droning on about my clever girlfriend. And two days ago, when we were walking to the labs, Draco Malfoy actually apologised for running into you.”

“I did think that was odd,” she muses thoughtfully, “but I still don’t think it means we’re dating.”

“Hermione,” Tom’s voice was exasperated now.

“Fine,” she agrees, “I suppose we can try dating. However, I reserve the right to change my mind if this becomes a disaster.”

“I think I can persuade you not to change your mind,” Tom says.

As he leans in to kiss her, she accepts he might be right.

* * *

Hermione tells Harry first.

She gives him the news in his dorm room on a night when the rest of their friends are all out, so that he has a chance to process the news and so no one can hear if he starts yelling.

Thankfully, there are no raised voices, although he fires off a lot of questions about whether she is being coerced or blackmailed (no, Harry), if it’s serious (possibly … probably), and why (he follows this with a lot of gesturing, an impression of a wide-mouthed frog, and a sheer, stubborn refusal to believe that Tom is ever anything but evil incarnate).

Hermione thinks the whole thing goes pretty well – Harry only threatens to kill Tom five times, he doesn’t insist that she break up with him (though she senses that this takes all of his self-control) and he says that respects her right to choose her own boyfriend (even if her choice is, in Harry’s words, ‘a raving sociopath’).

She tells Ginny next (a little concerned but not opposed, though she does ask for graphic details Hermione is certainly not about to share), and then Luna (supportive in her own unique way and making a lot of references to concepts Hermione is sure are made up).

Fred and George find out by accident (and tease her relentlessly until Tom has some kind of ‘talk’ with then, the details of which none of them will divulge, and then they’re scrupulously polite about it), Harry tells Neville and soon enough nearly all of the Gryffindors know.

As do most of the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs.

The Slytherins probably found out mere hours after she and Tom start dating but, in any event, it is inadvertently confirmed when Draco Malfoy walks in on the two of them kissing in Tom’s room and promptly flees the scene screaming about the abuse his eyes are now suffering.

(Thankfully Malfoy is a wimp and too scared of both Hermione and Tom to say anything crude about them).

Ron does not know.

Hermione is fully aware that she has to tell him, but she senses it will be a difficult task.

After all, Ron is not quite as reasonable as Harry.

She just hopes he doesn’t blow up at her.

* * *

Ron’s reaction is … not great.

She can deal with that, though, considering she was expecting it.

* * *

“Well,” Tom says, “you’ve told your friends, and none of them tried to persuade you against dating me.”

Hermione looks at him incredulously, “Ron went nearly catatonic for two hours and spent the next week dragging me to different doctors in an attempt to prove that I was under some kind of nefarious influence.”

“Yes, but there was no influence, and once he accepted that he told you he was happy for us.”

“You twisted his arm,” Hermione reminds him, “literally – he couldn’t write properly for three days.”

“Details,” Tom says with a careless shrug, “my point is that surely you have to end this ridiculous ‘trial period dating’ you insisted on.”

“I don’t know,” she says, “I’m still not entirely comfortable with the idea of dating someone who wanted to push another student down the stairs just for talking to me.”

“He was flirting,” Tom counters, “and everyone knows you have a boyfriend.”

“He was _talking_ to me, Tom, and he’d just got back from a few weeks off with really bad flu so he actually had no idea we’re dating.”

“Well, I didn’t push him anyway,” Tom scowls at her.

“Only because I stood in front of you.”

“Hermione,” he growls out, “you are the most frustrating person I’ve ever met but you are also the most magnificent. Now will you just admit that we are, to use the juvenile term, dating.”

Hermione seriously considers continuing to kick up a fuss, but she knows Tom can only be pushed so far and also that, despite the many disturbing aspects of his personality, she really does like him.

(she feels like that says something about _her_ personality, but she doesn’t really want to think about it).

“Well _if_ we are going to date then there are going to be some rules.”

Tom only rolls his eyes.

She decides to start with an easy one, “no killing anyone.”

Of course, because this is Tom, not even this one is straightforward.

“What if they’re trying to kill me?”

She ponders his words. For most people this wouldn’t be a concern, but she knows Tom is exactly the sort of person to invoke murderous feelings in others. 

“Well –”

“Or what if they really, really, _really_ annoy me.”

“Tom!”

“Fine,” he looks very put out, “no killing anybody unless it’s in self-defence.”

His hands are behind his back. She can’t tell whether he’s crossing his fingers but decides to hope for the best.

“No maiming,” she tells him.”

“I refuse to agree to that,” he tells her, and though he isn’t frowning his voice is cold and it reminds her that Tom might care for her (and he does, she believes) but that doesn’t mean he gives a damn about anyone else.

“No serious maiming,” she tries, not quite able to believe that she’s trying to negotiate with someone to ensure they only stick to non-life-threatening attacks.

“Don’t be a hypocrite, Hermione,” he reminds her with a sly smile.

She thinks of Mariette Edgecombe and Professor Umbridge, and concedes he might have a small point.

“No serious maiming without just cause,” she says firmly, “and that means an actual good reason, not just because they looked at you funny, or didn’t properly appreciate your genius.”

“Fine,” he sighs, like she’s asked for an incredible concession from him.

“Ok then,” she says, “then I guess we are officially dating.”

Sometimes Hermione wonders if she’s almost as bad a person as Tom often is.

But, whether or not that’s the case, she knows one thing for certain.

She’s never going to be bored with Tom as her boyfriend.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
